


Wedding Day

by LadyStrangeandUnusual (Dream_Wreaver)



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types, Beetlejuice - Perfect/Brown & King
Genre: F/M, Mindless Fluff, Musicalbabes, Weddings, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25755010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/LadyStrangeandUnusual
Summary: One of the happiest days of anyone's life is supposed to be their wedding day. So why does Lydia's feel more like a funeral?
Relationships: Beetlejuice/Lydia Deetz
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69





	Wedding Day

**Author's Note:**

> So... This is a little late. I was attempting to finish this for Babesweek and then life happened. But this fic is so special to me I wanted it to stand on its own. So consider this my entry for the Free Day, graveyard will hopefully be up soon too, along with a couple other wips I've been trying to finish. Anyways, enough rambling. Enjoy!

“Will you marry me?” How different a request could be depending on the phrasing. Will you marry me as opposed to, “I _need_ you to marry me,”

Though to be fair, both had a certain charm if they were nothing more than words on paper. One the offer to spend a lifetime together, the other a heartfelt declaration that they couldn't be without. But for Lydia, one held far more importance than the other. The latter had been a frustrated demand, it spoke of blackmail and betrayal and the breaking of everything. The former was a request built on trust and affection. More importantly, it wasn't built on what the union would bring for one party. It was based on them wanting to be together. Lydia never would have imagined herself in this position, and yet here she was.

She was hiding. Hiding from her fiancé and the rest of the wedding party while trying not to cry. Why? Why did this all feel so wrong? She caught sight of her reflection in a dusty old mirror in the church’s attic. The wedding dress was almost white, with a little splash of cream added in to keep the gown from completely washing her out. Her hair, grown longer, was piled atop her head while an equally as pale veil sat bunched around her thanks to the tiara she wore. Her makeup was subtle, but striking, and the shoes were ones she'd tire of standing in halfway through the ceremony. In other words, it was a perfect picture, from the other side of the camera. But from her side, the side beyond two dimensional objects that captured only a single instance in time, it was very different. Looks, photos, they held the truth, but they always deceived. Photos were staged, not an actual encapsulation of what was going on. And she knew this from experience. The way things were now, they painted a pretty picture, they were likely to _be_ a pretty picture too; a loving, _living_ husband with the expectation of a house, a pet, maybe even a couple of kids for their troubles as they worked at their careers independent but always together. The American Dream, something too many people had wasted their lives slaving for was now finally here, having fallen right into her lap. And yet... Was this really what she wanted? Unlike most people, Lydia knew what awaited her on the other side of life.

Would she be content to simply live her life, grow old and die? Have children that looked and acted just like her parents? Her fiancé didn't even know about the Maitlands, treated them like beloved family friends whose memories were kept alive instead of supportive spirits who’d helped bring Lydia this far. She had never been able to share that part of herself with him, even though she’d tried. It wasn’t Emmerson’s fault, he just wasn’t that spiritually inclined. Live people tended to ignore the strange and unusual, after all. Now that she thought about it, he hadn’t even begun to notice her until she’d started hiding her more eccentric traits behind her creative genius while her business facade had been what initially attracted his attention. Did he truly understand her? Did he even truly _know_ her? Lydia didn’t know if she could answer those questions, or if she could if those answers would be honest ones. She heard the voices down below, but she'd asked her father to stall the party while she collected her thoughts. No one but he knew where she was. And no one besides the church workers knew how to access the attic.

All Lydia could think about right now though, was how wrong this all seemed. How her dress and veil should be blood red, how her faithful heavy buckled boots should be the ones adorning her feet right now, of how her makeup should be as dark and extravagant as it had been in years long since passed. And how the groom, how the groom waiting below should be dressed to match in blood red velvet, messy multicolored hair tamed into temporary submission, bouncing on the balls of his feet with keen excitement as he waited for his bride. How grungy hands caked with grave dirt should be wringing themselves with unneeded nervousness. She would come, they both knew that.

It was ridiculous, foolish perhaps, for her to think fondly on her first go at the marriage game. It had all been nothing more than an elaborate scheme to get that demon out of their lives. But had Lydia been lying completely when she'd told him what marriage was all about love? Had she meant none of the words about love and life, and then being made by the people one chose to spend them with? Her heart ached. It was foolish but it did.

But then, Beetlejuice knew how fully the depth of Dead Mom’s departure had rocked her. Knew what lengths she had gone to to see the woman one final time. Emmerson didn’t know that. He wouldn’t even be able to _begin_ to comprehend how lost Lydia had been without her mother, sheer magnitude of how inconsolable she had been in the six months immediately following Dead Mom’s death. Her misadventure with Beetlejuice and years of therapy had helped settle the roiling emotions and heartache into a consistent but ignorably dull throbbing. Lydia had thought sharing her thoughts with Emmerson would lighten that load. But it hadn’t. And despite them allegedly being a team, two halves of a whole, Lydia bore the brunt of this trauma alone. Well, perhaps, not completely alone. There was always her family, and of course; Beetlejuice.

After he'd left them he'd never fully returned, only in Lydia’s mirror every now and then. He'd told her of his quest to find his father, and how it had failed. He'd told her he was proud of her first class conning skills, how even though he'd realized halfway through he couldn't stop her because she was putting so much effort into it. He'd told her he'd meant every word he’d said to his mother when he'd protected her. He wouldn't let anyone take her life from her. Which was why he never asked to be called. He was content to watch her life pass him by, penance he said, for what he'd done. Despite Lydia’s protests that she'd already forgiven him he refused any summoning, saying it was the least he could do after he'd tried to screw her over so badly. That if it was alright with her, he would always be there for her, but only at a distance. A divide between their worlds she couldn't yet cross and he refused to. He was selfish, something he admitted the night he'd first showed back up. He couldn't stay away, not completely, but he could give her space. Talking to the mirror seemed almost second nature to her now. And Lydia’s reflection had stayed too long. She'd waited, waited for him to show up as he always did. To banish that lonely specter with his presence. But there she remained.

He hadn't come. He hadn't come in her dressing room, so why should she bother to assume he'd show up here? This was supposed to be the happiest day of Lydia’s life this far and yet all she could think about was the veritable honeymoon she'd had years earlier, before her first marriage. No condescending adults, plenty of laughter and pranks and screams. And freedom, complete and total freedom. She'd been everything she hadn't been since her mother’s passing. She was seen, she was acknowledged, she was powerful with him at her side. A honeymoon before the wedding, so she really should have seen the wedding coming. But she hadn't, and they'd all paid the price for that. Was Lydia still paying? She didn't know.

How did this make her feel? Hiding like a coward despite all she'd done for this day. Working through a sizable pool of candidates, putting all her effort into moving forward with her life while not forgetting what had made her who she was now. But had she really been moving forward? Or had she been running away? And what could she do now? Her heart beat out the answer. Three syllables, three times said. Silently she whispered her apologies to Emmerson, who hadn't treated her badly, and had been someone she loved, and she made her escape.

Ditching the shoes she ran right back to the house that had started it all. Her father and Delia still lived there, as did the Maitlands, relatively speaking. But the former were probably scrambling around looking for her while the later were anxiously waiting for the ceremony to begin so they could watch it from their place back at the house. Except, there wouldn't be a ceremony, not with her current fiancé. Lydia let herself in and ran right up to the attic. Sure enough, there were Adam and Barbara waiting in front of a screen, though they did jump when they heard the door slam open.

“Lydia!” They exclaimed, shocked to see her here. And so came the questions, what are you doing here, is everything alright, why aren't you at the church, etcetera etcetera.

“I…” Lydia felt choked, “I couldn't do it,” tears she didn't even know she had to shed welled in her eyes, “I couldn't marry him.”

“Why not?” Barbara placed a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder, “I mean, if you don't want to talk about it that's fine but-”

“It was wrong,” Lydia began to shake, “All wrong. Everything felt wrong. It was all wrong!”

“What was wrong Lydia?” Adam asked her, “You spent so much time planning this. What happened?”

“Look at me!” Lydia exclaimed, gesturing to herself. But the Maitlands merely cocked their heads to the side in confusion.

“We are,” Barbara assured her, “You look beautiful,” Adam added.

Lydia shook her head. They didn't get it. They just didn't get it, “My dress,” she began, “Its not red. It's not red! I'm supposed to be wearing a red wedding dress, and… and my combat boots underneath it, and my veil is supposed to be a flower crown not a princess tiara and my groom! My groom is supposed to be-”

She caught herself just before she could say it. The superstition since he’d left was that to say his name would be to invite him back. And no one except for maybe Lydia herself wanted it. The Maitlands looked at each other, concern clearly etched onto their faces,

“Adam,” Barbara began slowly, “Go call Charles, tell him what's going on. Ask them to postpone the ceremony for right now.” Adam nodded and went off. To Lydia, Barbara said, “Come on now sweetie,” she gently urged the other woman up to her feet, “You need to go lie down for a while,”

Lydia followed the woman, not knowing what else to do. She returned to the bedroom that almost felt like her childhood. It had become just that when she'd finally taken a chance on life and happiness. Her bed was still as comfortable as she remembered, smelling like the laundry detergent Barbara made from her little herb garden on the windowsill. Lydia buried her face into the pillows and cried. And then she cried until she fell asleep.

When she woke, she saw the sky had darkened to dusky night. Her room was illuminated with only the pale light of the moon as it trickled in through her window. From the crack of space beneath the door, Lydia saw the gold light of the hallway blocked by feet as they stood in front of her door. And she heard voices, hushed but no less audible. Silently, she rose from her bed and avoided the creaky floorboards to listen in.

“... just a case of pre-wedding jitters,” her father’s voice came through from the other side, “She’s probably got some trauma from the last time she was forced to do this.”

“Charles,” that voice was Barbara, “She said everything was wrong, including the _groom_. There's something the matter here, and I'm worried he found his way back to her. Even after-”

“I know,” Charles told her, “But you should know telling that freak to stay away from something he wants wouldn't be enough to stop him. But if he had Lydia would have said something. She wouldn't hide it from us. What she needs is a good night’s rest, and she'll be ready to be married in the morning. I can only thank god we agreed to no reception, no money lost there,”

They finished speaking and went off their separate ways for the evening. Lydia turned and braced herself against the door. What was she going to do. Dead Mom help her, she felt so lost. Why had it felt so wrong to be marrying now? Why was her sign not given before she said yes? Was her father right? Was she merely confusing her past trauma with now? No, no she couldn't be. She had no desire to stab anyone after nuptials. She only wanted… Lydia blushed as she realized what it was. What came _after_ the wedding. And who she wanted to do that with.

She caught sight of herself in her vanity. Her hair was mused, her makeup was smeared. No, no this just wouldn't do. Lydia cleaned up her face and stared at her reflection. When had she let her hair get so frustratingly long? Much as she had done the same night her mother died, she took her scissors, and cut herself free. The haircut so reminiscent of the style she'd sported when she'd first met him. Then she set to work, digging out her backup makeup. Dark swatches of color. Smoked amethyst to simultaneously sink and bring out her eyes, black lipstick to make her skin look unearthly and deceased, nails redone in a silver color that would shimmer under the dim lights of eternity. Lydia looked at herself in the mirror once again. She still hated that her dress and veil weren't red, but there wasn't much she could do about it now. The old one had been lovingly repurposed into a light shawl that she now wrapped around her shoulders. Slipping into her old combat boots felt very much like slipping back into that which was familiar, that which was home, that which was _right_. And that she herself was finally ready to accept that fact.

Lydia thought about writing a note. Leaving an explanation, an apology, something. But she wasn't sorry, and how could she explain what drove her? It was something she herself didn't fully understand. She knew only that she had to do this, regardless of the censure, regardless of the risk, regardless of everything; but _him_. Lydia took a deep breath. Soon, soon that lonely reflection would be fixed. Her heart pounded frantically within her chest. Could he see her now? Could he hear her heart beating for him? One way to find out.

The weight of the words unspoken until now rested firmly in her chest. One more deep breath to steady herself and she was ready,

“Beetlejuice…” the hairs on the back of her neck rose, anticipation keen and eager, ”Beetlejuice,” she stood on the edge of a precipice, no way to go back, and only falling to go forward. But Lydia had been in freefall since the day he’d left her, now she was simply following where he’d gone, “ _Beetlejuice_!”

There was no crash of thunder, no flash of lightning. Nothing to indicate he'd even heard her. Dejection, disappointment, despair and depression waited ready and eager to sink their claws into her. And she almost let them. But then she heard it. The scratchy sound of something scraping against something else. Like chalk on a wall. Turning her head she saw it. The circle of light coming from the shape of her full length mirror. Purple instead of green, as the pane of glass fell away, swinging inwards like a door. A door to the other side. A door to _him_.

A bouquet of black roses had been placed on her dressing table. A wedding gift from Adam and Delia, who had grown them themselves especially for her. She drew them from the vase and gathered them in her arms. The pair had done their best to dethorn them for her, but she felt the keen prickle of one as it rested against her wrist. A symbol of something to come? Or simply a hidden thorn resisting the fate of its family? Either way, though nothing was spoken Lydia heard his beckoning clear as day.

“Here comes the bride,” she whispered to herself, stepping inside as the mirror closed behind her.

BJ BJ BJ

The chill seeped into her body through her legs. And it was then Lydia realized she had forgotten something to pair with her shoes. Oh well, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, nothing except getting back to Beetlejuice. Her monster, her demon, her dearly departed husband. Yes, husband. She was ready to accept that as a fact. Their first wedding had been nothing more than a sham, both of them using each other for something. This time around wasn’t about that. It was about what she had told him back then, love, and life, and the people one chose to spend it with. She was finally ready, ready to accept her place in the cosmos, and that was at his side.

Unfortunately for her, it seemed he’d anticipated her eagerness. Because he sent someone to intercept her along the way. Miss Argentina, clipboard still in hand as she ordered shadowy creatures that scampered about at her feet.

“Ah, and the netting goes over there, and we _can’t_ forget the buffet for the guests after the ceremony and,” her eyes caught Lydia, “Finalmente! Do you have any idea how _long_ we’ve been waiting for you?”

“Uh…” Lydia responded. Miss Argentina took a good look at her and tsked,

“Dios Mio look at you chiquita,” she strutted over and pulled a section of dress, “This is how you show up to your own wedding? Ah, nevermind, Beejito will take care of it I’m sure,”

“Beejito?” Lydia couldn’t help but snicker, it was cute, and it didn’t fit him at all, which made it all the more humorous.

“Ah, I’ll let him know you need a couple of… wardrobe adjustments,” Miss Argentina tutted, “Let’s see… hm, the hair is fine, but the dress. Blanco? Darling you’re not one of the dead, you really shouldn’t be dressing like it,”

“To be fair,” Lydia sighed, “This was sort of a last minute decision for me,”

“What? Marrying the stripey fool who’s been head over heels for you since día uno?” Miss Argentina raised a brow at her, “Really now, and you just _happen_ to have a wedding dress laying around for when you changed your mind?”

“No…” Lydia bit her lip, knowing she had to admit this but feeling like the worst sort of person as she did so, “I tried to forget, I tried to run away. I was going to marry someone else, but I just couldn't do it. It has to be him.”

The almost insane devotion the answer was given with was enough to make Miss Argentina pause, “Darling, how long has it been since you've last seen him?”

“Physically?” Lydia asked, “Not since the night he left. I’ve only seen him in my mirror, and we never brought any of this up.”

“Are you sure this is what you want then?” Miss Argentina asked her, tucking her clipboard under her arm and taking Lydia’s chin in her hand, turning it this way and that as she looked the younger woman over, “He hasn’t done anything has he?”

“He’s done absolutely nothing,” Lydia told her, “Which is why I know this is the right choice. My fear, my reactions, they’re all my own. All he wanted from me was love, and I wasn’t ready to give it to him then,” she tilted her chin stubbornly, “But I am now. Take me to him,”

“Darling, is bad luck to see the bride before the wedding,”

“It’s not like he can get more dead than he already is,”

“Alright, alright,” Miss Argentina sighed, “You’re as impatient as ‘im. Came back all that time ago and said he knew in his heart he would be marrying you again someday. I couldn’t believe it when a short while ago he burst into the waiting room and ordered us all to work, announcing there was gonna be a good old fashioned wedding right here in the Netherworld. But he got everyone excited, and here you are, so who am I to argue with it now? Vamos chica, you’ve got to get ready to walk down the aisle,”

“Wait…” Lydia hesitated a moment, “I’m not having second thoughts, but… my family, I want them here. They were here when this started, they should be here to see it finished.”

“You hear that my little shadows?” Miss Argentina snapped her fingers and the dark swirling specters rose from nothingness again, “Get the Deetzes and the Maitlands here pronto. Andale, andale!” she turned back to Lydia, “And you, let’s get you ready,”

She brought Lydia to another part of the Netherworld, and instructed her to wait there while she went for Beetlejuice. She came back a moment later, alone.

“He said he didn't want to spoil the surprise, so to take this,” Miss Argentina held out a small beetle brooch for Lydia to take, “And use it to get yourself ready. I need to check that your guests get to their seats and are ready for you. Your papa, did you want him to walk you down the aisle?”

“I…” Lydia paused, not actually having thought about that before, “I would, but I doubt he'd agree.”

“I bring him to you and we figure that out together Ah?”

“Yes please, thank you,” Lydia began to shake. She hadn't thought of more than wanting her loved ones here while she took the plunge. She hadn't thought about how they might react to her snap decision. Well, maybe she didn't have to think about that. She knew what their reactions would be; shock and disbelief and anger towards him, and perhaps towards her for going back when she should have gone forward. Unbidden a line from an old story she used to know sprung to her mind,

_“The way forwards, is sometimes the way back,”_

Moving on hadn't been moving forwards. Moving on had only let her bury herself and what she really wanted to please some idealistic standard she didn't hold or even quite believe in. She only hoped someone would understand that.

BJ BJ BJ

Charles Deetz wanted to say he was the type of father who would accept whatever path his daughter chose for herself regardless of whether or not he thought it was the path she should be choosing. But, he hadn’t been able to help the sigh of relief when Lydia announced she would be getting married to a nice, well to do, _living_ young man. At last he could sleep in peace, the reoccurring nightmare finally put to rest. Those horrible words forever banished from his psyche, only an echo of a demon long vanquished,

_“I’ve come for your daughter, Chuck,”_

But he hadn’t. And Lydia, Lydia was safe. She was on the right track. Until the wedding day. He’d felt panic, terror, those words once again haunting him. Since that day he’d never tried to deny Lydia her interests, but he was always afraid he would also lose her because of them. Because of _him_. When Adam and Barbara had let him know that something had happened, likely stress and nerves had gotten to her, and she’d gone running home to them for comfort he let out another sigh of relief. If she was with them there was a chance of everything working out. By the time he got home after making the announcements and assuring everyone the wedding would continue tomorrow, Lydia was resting in her room, and that had been when Barbara had told him everything.

“It’s just a case of pre-wedding jitters,” Charles had told her as they stood in front of the door to her room. Lydia’s career had taken off and she’d long since moved out. But she valued seeing Adam and Barbara and made frequent trips home, much to her fiance’s beleaguered amusement, “She’s probably got some trauma from the last time she was forced to do this.”

“Charles,” Barbara looked frightened, “She said everything was wrong, including the _groom_. There's something the matter here, and I'm worried he found his way back to her. Even after-”

“I know,” Charles told her, “But you should know telling that freak to stay away from something he wants wouldn't be enough to detract him. But if he had Lydia would have said something. She wouldn't hide it from us. What she needs is a good night’s rest, and she'll be ready to be married in the morning. I can only thank god we agreed to no reception, no money lost there,”

Barbara voiced her concerns that something had gone wrong with Lydia. That there was a desperation in her that spoke of only bad decisions. Barbara worried that Lydia might hurt herself to try and see him again. Charles assured her they’d keep an eye on her, checking in through the night to make sure she remained asleep. Her wedding was tomorrow after all. But he bid Barbara goodnight and joined Delia in bed. The other woman voiced her own concerns,

“Charles,” Delia’s voice wasn’t more than a whisper, “Did you think we did the right thing all those years ago?”

“What do you mean?” Charles asked her.

“Letting her go through with that wedding… I have to be honest, I thought there was something more there.”

“What?” Charles had to splutter, “You really think that freak… and my daughter…”

“Charles you weren’t there,” Delia reminded him, “Even as he chased after us all he did was wail about Lydia. He could have married me if all he wanted was a life. And you remember the nightmares she had, she never told you or Adam or Barbara because she knew you wouldn’t understand. She didn’t want to kill him, and she kept reliving it over and over again for a month. There’s something there Charles, and I’m worried that if we force her life in the way we think it should go, we could do some serious spiritual damage.”

“Delia it’s fine,” Charles scoffed, “Lydia is the one who agreed to marry him, Lydia is the one who put the whole ceremony together while he worked to pay for it, it’s just a case of pre-wedding jitters coupled with a bad first experience of how a wedding should go. That’s it, she’ll be fine come morning,” and with that he rolled over and firmly shut his eyes, “Goodnight,” tossed over his shoulder.

He listened to the soft rustling as Delia attempted to get comfortable. When she settled he began to drift off. He was almost asleep when he heard mischievous snickering on the edges of his consciousness. Then, a could touch down at his ankle. With a start he was yanked out of bed and dragged across the floor. Something he couldn’t see laughing all the way. He heard Delia screaming, though it wasn’t in shock of it happening to him. What was happening? The unseen entities began dragging them to the walls, where an eerie green light emanated from a door that was not part of the normal layout. Oh no, not there. Not again. He clawed at the fine hardwood floors, trying to resist, but not nearly as strong as these things that continued to tug at him. And then one ripped at his fingers and he was pulled into the abyss.

When he next awoke it was to some sort of bizarre ceremony set up in the inky vastness of the Netherworld. Those once cold and impersonal white lines descending into nothingness had changed though. They shifted, green and purple and back again. Those two colors, and those alone. Purple, purple was one of Lydia’s favorite colors. Charles looked around, finding Delia and the Maitlands also passed out in chairs in some sort of also strange ceremonial setup. Quickly he rose to his feet and began waking up the others,

“Get up, get up!” he shook and prodded them, eager to get them conscious so they could try and find a way out of here. What a pity he hadn’t managed to grab any chalk before his abduction. From now on, he’d always keep a chalk piece handy; in his pockets, under his pillow. So long as it was in reach.

The other three stirred, wondering what had happened and where they were now, but before Charles could answer, someone beat him to the punch.

“Welcome losers, to the Netherworld!” that voice. Chills ran down their spines and those with blood still in their veins felt it quickly going cold. Beetlejuice, “And you’re just in time, too,” he added, dusting off the lapels of a sparkly red tuxedo. The same type of tuxedo he’d worn when- oh. Oh _no_. “Weddin’s a terrible thing to miss.”

“Beetlejuice,” Barbara seethed, being held back only by Adam’s hands on her shoulders, “Why have you brought us here?”

“Now I know you love to blame me for everything wrong with your experience of being dead so far but; surprise, surprise,” Beetlejuice countered, “I’m not the one responsible for you louts being here. Matter of fact, I’d be just fine if you weren’t. But she insisted, and who am I to argue on the happiest day of my afterlife huh?”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Adam pointed out, “Why are we here?”

“I’ll answer that in a moment Adam,” Beetlejuice shot the other man a shark’s grin, “But first,”

With a snap of his fingers their wardrobes were changed. No more were the clothes intended for sleeping, instead they were the fanciest outfits they’d ever seen. Dressed to the nines with tails and jewelry and all.

“Well well well, look at you all, dressed to kill and knockin’ ‘em dead!” the demonic poltergeist chuckled at his own joke, “Alright, now then; Chuckie! You’re comin’ with me.”

“What, no, why?” Charles protested even as he felt his legs move against their owner’s will. Damn that stupid possession trick. Didn’t even have to take them over completely.

“Well,” Beetlejuice shrugged, shooting him a self-satisfied smirk, “What’s a weddin’ without the father of the bride?”

Father of the bride. No. No, no, no! Not that. Not her. Lydia, poor Lydia. What had he done to her? Was he forcing her? Was she doing this to save them?

“Why you!” but as Charles charged at the immortal monster regardless of harm to himself, Beetlejuice simply smirked and snapped his fingers and the world beneath Charles’ feet ran away.

He appeared again at the side of a woman dressed in red, a woman he recognized as his daughter. She looked, almost fanatically happy, like she was under some kind of spell, like she had lost all sense of rationale, reason, and sanity. Charles hoped that was the case; the reality was otherwise too much to bear. That Lydia had chosen this, chosen _him_. That monster they’d worked so hard to get rid of the first time. Her impatience was evident in the line of her torso, but she remained relatively still, waiting for something it seemed.

“Lydia?” he questioned. The woman turned to him, looking at him through the layers of her veil. It was her, and still living too it seemed. So at least she hadn’t killed herself, or had been killed, yet.

“Daddy,” her voice sounded so small, so _young_ , and because he wanted to believe it was, so scared too.

“Oh Lydia thank god you’re alright,” he went to her and hugged her tightly. Pulling back he added, “What did that monster do to you? Did he hurt you? Is he forcing you to do this? Come on, we need to find a way out of here,” he began tugging at her arm, in hopes that somewhere in the darkness lay the way back home. But Lydia resisted, pulling away from his grip,

“I’m not going anywhere Dad,” she told him, “Not yet,”

“Oh, right,” Charles sighed, “We have to rescue Delia and the Maitlands too, hm…”

“No,” Lydia shook her head at him, “I’m not going at all. Not until after my wedding,”

“Lydia,” Charles chided her, “Your wedding was already supposed to have happened, and it _will_ ; but first we need to get out of this godforsaken place!”

“Dad,” Lydia’s tone made him pause, “you don't get it. This _is_ my wedding.”

Charles’ heart sank, “This can't be happening! You're possessed, tell me you're possessed!”

“I can tell you that if it would make you feel better,” Lydia told him, “But it would be a lie,”

And if it were physically possible, Charles would have said his heart dropped right out of his body. No, this wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening! Lydia was supposed to settle down, live a normal life, move on from all of this even if she’d never forget it.

Lydia, noticing her father’s expression, sighed. She should have known that he wouldn't understand. But she would have at least have hoped that he would accept her decision. Sure, it was a bit of a sudden decision, but was it foolish to hope that he would be happy that she was happy? Lydia now had to admit to herself that she hadn't actually been feeling happy with her former fiancé for a long, long time. Perhaps at one point, but from the time that they’d actually committed to getting married, Lydia had felt hollow, perhaps even unfulfilled. And now she knew it was because she’d been trying to replace something she’d already had.

“Dad,” she began, “I can’t begin to explain this to you, but here I go. Ever since Emmerson and I had gotten engaged I felt this sort of emptiness, like I was about to make a huge mistake. And then, I found myself hiding on my own damn wedding day, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I didn’t recognize who that was. Because it wasn’t me. Emmerson was never in love with Lydia Deetz, not the real one. He was in love with the young photographer who took macabre photos but was secretly normal beneath the lens. He treated it like it was a necessary pretension to get my work noticed. And I had to hide… so much from him, because he would never understand. What kind of relationship is that Dad?”

“He would have,” Charles tried to convince, though he didn’t know if he was attempting to convince her or himself, “If you’d just given him the chance-”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Lydia told him, “Beetle-” she paused, not wanting him to get in on this talk right now, she didn’t want _that_ to be their reunion, “Beej never did anything, never said anything, and I never summoned him back Dad. He’s had no influence on my decision, all he’s done was prepare our second wedding, waiting on me to be ready. I don’t expect you to accept him, I don’t even expect you to understand but Daddy,” she let out a soft sigh, “I love him. I love him and I’m ready to acknowledge that now. I want to be with him, and I want you to be by my side when I do.” But seeing the expression her father made in response she added, “But I don’t want to force you. If you like, I can have him send you all home, but I won’t be going with you… and I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again after that.”

Charles felt his heart break. It was like watching Lydia choose the Netherworld, choose _death_ all over again. But he could either risk losing her forever as he had Emily, or he could accept that his daughter was an adult and that he wouldn’t always agree with the decisions that she made; but it didn’t mean they were the wrong decisions for her to make. Emmerson would have taken care of Lydia, but Lydia had never been a socialite daughter, so the odds of her being a socialite wife were slim to none. She would never change to suit someone else, and eventually… he could see the path all too clearly now, as though he’d been given a prophetic vision. The sight of Lydia, alone in a luxurious NYC penthouse, with all the lights off, crying because her husband had left her for another toy, he saw the glint of the knife in her hands, the red of the blood as the blade dragged itself against her wrist. Beetlejuice, for all his many, many, _many_ flaws, would never leave her alone. Not if she chose him. And she had.

Charles sighed, feeling older still than he already was, “Lydia,” he began, “You’re right, I don’t understand, and I don’t think I ever will,” he saw her visibly deflate a little bit, “But,” he added, “I can support you and be there for you no matter what, now,” he offered her his arm, “Let’s get you down that aisle,”

BJ BJ BJ

Despite knowing she was here, and that she had no chalk by which to get home and leave him again, Beetlejuice was nervous. It had been a pretty big risk preparing for this shindig when he had no actual confirmation for the longest time that Lydia would be present for it. He knew deep in that shriveled, blackened, hole ridden thing he called a heart that she would. But leaving her to her own devices, to let her realize he was the one she wanted, was still a gamble. He knew how stubborn his Lydia could be, and how much influence her family had over her. It was how she’d nearly gotten to the damn altar with the wrong groom in the first place. And letting her father go was perhaps the biggest risk of all. Letting someone talk to her, convince her that this was a mistake, it was risky. But he knew that Lydia loved spiting her dad, and hoped that would be enough to keep her coming his way. Old Chuck was perhaps the least effective parent out of the four she had, if anyone was going to convince her not to go through with it it'd probably be one of the Maitlands. Typical, no sense of adventure. Not that it mattered, they were in their seats. Chuck was the one with Lydia. But still, Beetlejuice felt nervous. And he couldn’t really explain why.

Miss Argentina was standing as the ceremony officiant. And Jesus Christ he’d never noticed how much she and Red looked alike. You could almost swear there was some type of family resemblance. He’d have to ask her about that sometime. Regardless, perhaps because she was one of the few entities who had known him the longest, Miss Argentina recognized his slightly manic energy for what it was, and said something about it,

“Don’ worry Beejito,” she whispered to him, “You didn't see her when she got here. She was so eager to be with ‘chu, she won’ back out now.”

“I know _that_ ,” Beetlejuice snapped back at the beauty queen.

“If ‘chu know tha’ why are you so nervous?” Tina asked him.

“I… I don't know!” Beetlejuice huffed as he folded his arms, “I know she's coming, I've always known she'd come back for me. That she would remember who she belonged to. But this… I mean, it's a big decision isn't it? I always said if I was ever gonna do it I would do it once and that was it,”

“You're marrying the same girl,” Tina deadpanned, “I don’ think that goes against your little,” she flicked her perfectly manicured nails at him, “Whatever that was.”

“You asked me, and I bothered t’give ya a semi honest answer instead of hexing you or otherwise being a shit,” Beetlejuice glared at her, “I’d be a little more grateful if I was you.”

“Oh,” Tina said knowingly, as though she'd just realized, “You're nervous because there's no scheme this time. You're afraid because you're in love!”

“Shut yer mouth!” Beetlejuice immediately hissed at her, “This ain't about love, life, the people y’choose to share it with, or any of that other sentimental crap. This is about me reclaiming what's always been _mine_.”

“Keep telling yourself that Beejito,” Tina smirked at him, “Because here comes the bride.”

The sounds of a haunting and macabre rendition of the bridal march filled the air. Charles and Lydia walked down the aisle flanked by all the spectators of the dead, whom Beetlejuice had conscripted in lieu of wedding guests. Unlike their first wedding, the veil’s layers were obscuring her features, but he knew she would be a drop dead knockout beneath it. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to seeing what was under those red ruffles either. And that was when it hit him, why he had been nervous. It was one thing to, for whatever reason, claim their marriage was nothing more than a green card thing. It was quite another to not have that safety net of pretension. Sure, Lydia was his, and this wedding would more than prove it. But the thing was, there was no greater reason or motive behind it. He wanted to get remarried because he wanted Lydia, not any of the benefits that he could claim came with marrying her. This go around, he wasn’t getting shit out of this. Except, of course, for Lydia. He could argue it would have hurt his pride as a man to watch his wife try and hitch herself to someone else, he could argue that it was all about proving to Lydia that she belonged to him and always had, he could argue until he was bluer in the face than he already was. In the end, it didn’t matter. Because this was about Lydia, and it always had been.

In what was simultaneously an eternity and the blink of an eye, Lydia was at his side. Standing right across from him, here on this long, winding, and eternal road. And they were going to be walking together from now on. Beetlejuice never could have imagined this for himself, never could have imagined _wanting_ this for himself. And yet, now that it was here in front of him, he wanted it. He wanted it all. He could barely hear the words as they came out of Tina’s mouth, barely comprehend all the monumental promises he was making. Being dead, there was no “til death do us part” and this sort of ceremony would mean Lydia would be even further bound to him than she was already. It was a huge commitment, going from being alone all the time to having someone, to have and to hold, forever.

Lydia swore that everyone in attendance could hear the beating of her heart as it pounded mercilessly in her ribcage. Good thing she was already in the land of the dead, if she died there was nowhere she needed to go. And she really felt like she might die, but of happiness. It was incredible to be honest. All those words she’d said all those years ago, a honey trap for her little fly eating monster, how much had a part of her meant them? How much had she craved the moment where she could finally meet with him again and show him she wasn’t such a little girl anymore? And here it was, all before her.

“Do you, Beetlejuice, take this mortal as your eternal, cursed bride?” Tina asked him.

“I- do,” Beetlejuice answered, only the barest hint of hesitation in his voice. Lydia couldn’t precisely blame him. The last time they’d gotten married she’d put a pole through his back, literally. A bit of hesitation was a bit warranted. To be quite honest she was more surprised there wasn’t more anger at her in that statement. Was she potentially putting herself in a lot of danger by agreeing to be his? Yes, but she was far past the point of caring.

“And do you, Lydia Deetz, take this…” Tina paused a moment and then said, “Beetlejuice, as your husband?”

“I do,” Lydia nodded. Maybe she was stupid, maybe she was putting herself in harms way intentionally. But so long as she had her demon, nothing else mattered.

“Then by the power vested in me by the authority of the Netherworld; the rings,”

From out of the aether, two bands materialized. One gold and purple, the other silver and green. He slid the ring onto her finger, a widow’s ring apparently, and then she did the same to him. The connection of life and death in their hands and in their union. Miss Argentina nodded at them, then looked to the congregation,

“I now pronounce you, demon and wife! You may kiss the bride.”

Beetlejuice scoffed, as if I needed _your_ permission,” he muttered under his breath. Lydia giggled, being close enough to catch the snark.

He lifted her veil up and took her face in his hands pulling her into him for a kiss. Lydia’s hands reached up and held his arms, just below his wrists where he still cupped her face. Considering who it was she was kissing, Lydia was surprised by how chaste it was. Then again, maybe this was his wedding gift to her parents. Or maybe he was just trying to make her want more by playing it light. Who knew? And more importantly, who cared? She had eternity to find out, she didn’t need answers now.

After a beat Beetlejuice released her lips, but he still kept her face cupped in his hands. Then, with a menacing grin which she matched, they touched noses affectionately. Everyone -minus the Deetz-Maitland family who tried to give a polite amount of support despite their reservations- exploded into cheers and applause. It was a good old fashioned wedding right in the middle of Hell. A nice big middle finger to those assholes in Heaven, one of them had found happiness, which meant there was hope for all of them.

Lydia heard a soft grumble as Beetlejuice still held her tight, “Ready to get outta here babes?” he asked her out the corner of his mouth.

“I’m just _dying_ to go,” she replied.

He smirked, “Funny, because most folks are just _dyin’_ t’get in here,”

They cackled, and then he swept her up in his arms. With a puff of smoke they were gone, and the party in the Netherworld truly began. But the guests of honor were otherwise engaged, consummating the childhood bedroom of a house on a hill, in the middle of a small hick town known as Winter River, Connecticut.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought. Thank you so much for reading and I'll see you all next time!


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